


Prelude to a Dream

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroko no Basuke
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Post- Separation, akafuri twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:10:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seijuro remembers how to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude to a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YEHFICSMAN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YEHFICSMAN/gifts).



When Akashi Seijūrō opened the door on a Monday morning, he hadn’t expected to find anything he cared about on the other side. Not when what he was doing was going to work, under an imbecile that made mistakes every day, as Seijūrō had to bite his tongue or risk redundancy. Not when his life roughly comprised of keeping himself alive and the rest of the time staring out of the windows holding a book that he couldn’t read or with the TV a rumble of indistinguishable noise in the background. He hadn’t expected to find one of his sons flat on the floor apparently trying to peek through the tiny gap under it, the other behind him with his hands pressed to his mouth and rocking on the balls of his feet the way he did when he was nervous; a habit he’d had since he first learnt to stand up on his own.

"What are you…?" The words caught in his throat as Eri leapt up to his feet and dusted himself off, and Aito approached him, hiding behind his brother.

"You still remember us, right?" Aito asked.

Seijūrō would have gotten angry, told them that all he thought about was the first time he’d held them, feeling so much love swelling inside him that the entire world was paling in comparison, that even the love he felt for Kōki didn’t reach it, like his heart had tripled in size and he could only clutch them to him and breathe.

But Aito was serious. He really was afraid that they’d slipped from Seijūrō’s mind.

"N-no. Of course not."

Eri’s eyes narrowed at the slip. “It’s just that it’s been… what, a year?” He looked over his shoulder at his brother for confirmation.

"Over a year," Aito said.

It had been a year, three months and six days since he’d last seen them and promised he would be around for their birthday, but in the end he’d been too… ‘ _busy’_ had been his excuse. It was just after the company had gone bankrupt, so it wasn’t entirely a lie, but the entire truth had been that he’d stayed standing at his front door with his keys in his hand for close to three hours before giving up.

"I couldn’t…"

"Can we come in?"

"Eri," Aito said before hissing something in his ear. Eri kept on staring at him, mistrust plain in his dark eyes.

"Yes," he said, stepping aside to let them in. His cretin of a boss would likely use his tardiness as an excuse to fire him, but with his sons so close that (if he was brave enough) one movement could bring them both into his arms, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

They’d both grown exactly an inch since he’d last seen them and since turning eleven apparently had finally gotten out of Kōki choosing matching clothes for them, which Eri (wearing shorts which showed scuffed knees and a t-shirt with a backpack) had always hated and Aito (in jeans and a pale sweater) had pretended to hate.

"Daddy." Aito took hold of his sleeve. Seijūrō wondered if it was possible that he was dragging his soul out with just the expression in his eyes. "Papa’s getting remarried."

Seijūrō just looked at him. He knew, after all. The call last week from Kōki; “ _The twins really want you to come, but they understand if you don’t want to; it would just be really useful if you could look after them the week after_ ,” and Seijūrō had been almost certain that he’d added ‘ _actually be a father for once_ ’ at the end.

He’d refused the invitation, of course, unable to even _think_ about the fact that Kōki was happier without him, but agreed to take the twins the week he’d be away for the honeymoon. And once the conversation was finished he hung up, looked at the phone still in his hand and launched it at the wall, imagining some woman’s face in its place.

It wasn’t fair, he knew that, but it made him feel better.

"But…" Eri sent a wide-eyed look to Aito, who nodded encouragingly. "We’d much rather he be with you."

"It doesn’t work like that, Eri."

"It was the company, wasn’t it? Well that’s gone now. We heard." Aito nodded in agreement.

He had the same way of smiling as Kōki did, unassuming and easy.

"Don’t you still love him?"

He wasn’t entirely sure which one had spoken. Aito had wrapped his arms around Seijūrō’s waist and hidden his face in his chest as Eri quickly wiped under his eyes. “Unless it’s _us_ that you don’t love.”

"Don’t say that, Eri. You have no idea." His eyes were bright but he stayed a stubborn distance away, even when Seijūrō bent down to pick up Aito. He was too big for it really, so he savoured the feeling when he wasn’t pushed away.

"So what are you going to do?"

"What is there to do?" He answered, sitting on the sofa and letting Aito shuffle around on his lap to get more comfortable. "Do you not like her?"

"We like her," Eri said, hopping onto the sofa next to them.

"She’s nice," Aito mumbled into his neck.

"But she’s not you." Eri lifted his legs to prop his chin on scuffed knees, his thin arms around his shins. Seijūrō reached out to stroke his hair and he stayed stock-still. "I know papa feels the same way, though he refuses to admit it." Aito nodded in agreement with his brother.

It set off the chain of images in Seijūrō’s head; being brave—or maybe stupid—enough to pull Kōki into his arms and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. He remembered how it felt as if the last time had been only minutes ago rather than five years ago.

“I want that,” he admitted, until he saw the bright-eyed looks they gave each other. “But that doesn’t mean that I can stop a _wedding_. He’s marrying her for a reason, isn’t he?”

“He doesn’t like being alone, and she’s a nice person.” Aito sat up, though he kept his arms around Seijūrō’s neck. “He likes her too—”

“I’d wager more than that.” Aito blinked at the dark tone his father had taken.

“—b-but it’s not like… the same.”

When Seijūrō didn’t answer, he looked towards Eri in a panic, who chewed on his bottom lip, showing the gap between his front teeth. “Uh…” he started. “It… it’s not like with Kuroko-sensei and Kagami.”

“And he doesn’t have the same expression as when he’s talking about you.”

“Not the same kind of love.” Aito shook his head as Eri shuffled closer. “And if even _we_ can see that I don’t know why papa doesn’t.”

Seijūrō leant back and would have been cold if Aito hadn’t cuddled up to him again. “Have you thought that maybe you’re not reading the situation as you should?”

“No,” Eri said, frowning as if the thought really had not occurred to him. “That’s not possible. I know how to read papa.”

Of all the things to inherit from Seijūrō, Eri had definitely inherited his petulant side. He eyed his son, well aware that they were making the same expression, and… that his son was winning. “No,” he said, looking away.

“At least come to the wedding.”

The petulant tone was still in his voice, and thinking about that, he wasn’t prepared when Aito pulled back a bit and gazed at him, pouting and his lower lip trembling. His eyes were shining with unshed tears and he sniffled until Seijūrō quickly agreed to go.

He should have remembered that they had always been manipulative, and that as much as he hated to admit it, he had been the softer touch of him and Kōki, but it was difficult to care much when Aito’s arms were around his neck again, soft hair tickling his cheek, and even though Eri wasn’t touching him he was near enough that Seijūrō could feel where the sofa was dipping from his weight and what had been a dreary apartment, furnished with everything he needed but nothing more than that, was suddenly lighting up as if they’d brought in galaxies with them.

“We should go back, Aito,” Eri said after a few moments, tugging on his hand. They looked at each other for a moment before Aito nodded and scrambled off Seijūrō’s lap after kissing his cheek.

“You’re fine getting home alone?”

Eri nodded, throwing a quick glance around the room before taking a piece of paper out of his pocket, the other hand going to take Aito’s. “We share a mobile phone. You should have the number.”

There was a roughly scrawled string of numbers on the paper in a handwriting which could only be Eri’s. “Thank you.”

Eri opened the door and tugged on Aito’s hand as he started towards Seijūrō, pulling him out and down the road. Seijūrō stared after them, leaning against the doorframe and regretting that he hadn’t hugged them both.

And even though every time he’d made the promise he’d broken it, he vowed that he would stay in contact, for his _own_ good as well as theirs. He held onto the paper Eri had given him, stared at the messy numbers until he’d memorised them and registered it in his phone (which, since he’d had to downgrade to a nokia, only had scuffs and a small crack from when he’d thrown it at the wall). His final stage was to put it carefully on the fridge with a magnet and look at it as if it had become the focal point of the room.

He checked the time, sighed when he saw how late he was for work and picked up his briefcase from where it was resting against the sofa, startled when something else fell over.

A small red backpack. He picked it up, remembering that Eri’d had a bag when he came in but not when he had left.

It did look like it had been placed in a specific area, though, and if those looks they were giving together was actually the silent communication they’d had when they were younger, then… had it been left on purpose?

Surely they couldn’t be as underhanded and manipulative as that.

-

He found that afternoon (after being told at work it was his last chance—unfair, really; apart from that morning he was a stellar employee) when he called their number that the phone was still in the bag and had an awfully irritating ringtone which sounded a lot like Kōki’s terrible taste in music.

Definitely left here on purpose.

But maybe Kōki wouldn’t open the door and the twins had just used it as an excuse to see him again, which, after all the failed promises he could understand. As long as _she_ wasn’t there, he was pretty sure he could get through this without mortal embarrassment.

Which was how he found himself down Kōki’s road, the backpack held tightly to his chest, checking his distorted reflection in every car he passed. The house, which he had moved into with the twins about a year after their separation, was small, with something of a garden in the front the last time he’d seen it. Now the garden had taken and was blooming with a variety of flowers and bushes. Seijūrō recognised Kōki’s touch in the arrangement and stood at the gate for a moment, before slowly swinging it open. It was silent, but Aito must have either heard or seen his entrance because he’d suddenly dived into Seijūrō’s arms, jumping up to lock around Seijūrō’s neck so he had no choice but to carry him.

“He’s too old for that.”

It wasn’t something he could _prepare_ for, not really, but he did his best, stroking Aito’s hair as he shook his head against Seijūrō’s neck, pressing his cheek against his cold ear, and finally looking at Kōki.

He was kneeling next to Eri, who was prodding at his knees, even more scuffed than they had been this morning.

“It’s fine,” he said, looking at Eri instead of Kōki. Aito’s arms tightened when he shifted his weight. “They left this at my place.” He held the bag out, and Kōki got up to snatch it out of his hand.

“Thank you,” he said tersely, handing it to Eri, who had started to walk towards Seijūrō.

It should have been easier to talk to someone he’d been so comfortable with only a handful of years ago. But right now he was holding Aito like a shield between them, and Kōki had his hand on Eri’s shoulder as if he was holding him back. “Is that all?” he asked with painful politeness.

“ _The wedding_ ,” Aito hissed almost silently in his ear. Seijūrō looked at his dark head, to where Eri was watching him expectantly, and finally to Kōki.

“A-about the wedding—” Kōki’s eyes narrowed and it was only the fact that Aito had pulled back to look at him earnestly with an expression so much like Kōki that his heart ached which kept him going. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I would like to attend. I can keep an eye on the twins so you don’t have to worry about them.”

“I’m a single parent; all I do is worry about them.”

He’d always been steely and hard under stress, but before Seijūrō could calm him by kissing him or just holding him. Without physical affection, he didn’t know what would work.

Aito turned his head to look at Kōki, and Seijūrō could only expect that he was pulling the same face as he had this morning. Eri stepped closer to Kōki, hugged him tightly and hid his face in his chest until he sighed, shrugged dismissively and said, “Fine. That would be… useful.”

-

He figured that it was going to start being a regular occurrence when he opened the front door to some loud banging the next morning, and expected that he wouldn’t mind the change when Aito gave him a wide smile (and even though biologically it was quite impossible, he looked so much like Kōki) and even Eri beamed at him for a moment.

“We need help with our holiday homework,” Eri said, slipping into the house. Seijūrō shut the door behind them.

“And papa’s too stressed out.”

“He’s difficult to live with lately.” They gave each other long-suffering looks before simultaneously taking out a few sheets of paper from their bags. “Can you help?”

“You don’t have work today, right?” Aito asked, eyeing the casual clothes he was wearing.

Seijūrō answered that he didn’t and followed them to the dining table (which, out of habit, had four seats around it with no real need to) and scanned through the pieces of paper they handed to him.

Even this, with the boys sighing about the work and having to be chided to complete it, they were lighting up the house until he couldn’t remember why he ever thought it was a lifeless place. They were both clever (Eri slightly more so than Aito) and quick learners. Put simply, they were perfect, still easy to be with, and still instilled a greater strength in him than anything else could. The doorbell rang a few hours later, once the work had been finished and they had chosen some TV programme to watch whilst curled up on the sofa like cats, Aito with his head on Seijūrō’s lap.

Eri leapt to his feet at the sound. “Must be papa,” he said.

“What?” Eri frowned at him, and Seijūrō insistently pushed Aito into a more upright position. “You didn’t tell me Kōki would be coming here.”

“What’s the problem?” Aito asked. He rubbed his eyes.

 _They_ were much too innocent to think anything of it, but he was sure that what Kōki would see when he looked at the small house was the proof of Seijūrō having given up on their marriage for nothing. It was the material proof his company had gone bankrupt, that he’d had to crawl from nothing by himself, not even with his father’s support. Even the separation had done nothing to curb what had developed into an intense dislike for his son, not that after what had happened he _wanted_ anything to do with his father.

“There’s no problem.”

“You look fine,” Eri continued, still watching him in confusion.

The doorbell rang again, with a harshness that he could only imagine was because of increasing irritation on the other side of the door as he gave Eri a sarcastic look. “It’s not that. Get your papers together.”

He pouted, but still ran to the table as Seijūrō got the door. Aito, who had kept his papers neat and put them away immediately, followed him.

“You’re supposed to open the door on the first ring, Seijūrō,” Kōki said as soon as the door was open.

Seijūrō cocked an eyebrow, feeling somewhat triumphant when Kōki’s cheeks darkened and he looked to the side, until the movement pulled his shirt away from his neck to reveal a bruise. Or, more precisely, a love-mark.

Logically, he knew there was no reason to be so angry when he saw it. Kōki had moved on, just as Seijūrō was meant to have, but he hadn’t registered that it would mean that he would have sex with someone else.

He felt like someone was welding him to the floor. He no longer had anything of Kōki, even the twins would get bored after a few weeks and settle into what would be their real family without much thought for him. And in the end, he deserved it.

“Are you alright?”

At Kōki’s apparently startled question he broke out of his reverie, and he replied with what he was aware was an entirely unconvincing, “ _I’m fine_.”

Eri, finally packed, placed a calculator in Seijūrō’s hand, and at his inquisitive look said, “I’ll need that before Monday,” and tugged Aito away.

“Why did he…?”

“He’s making sure he’ll see you again,” Kōki explained, still looking at him coldly.

Seijūrō let him leave, shut the door, placed the calculator carefully on the table. The piece of paper with the twin’s number scrawled on it had fallen on the floor, so he picked it up and placed it under the magnet again.

They’d taken all light and warmth with them, and he was sure that it would be like that every time.

-

Dreams, since he had been a child, had always been fickle for him. He could have long stretches when he didn’t dream at all, stretches when the same nightmares plagued him over and over (metal nails and screws in his hands, in his arms, in his legs, and an indistinguishable figure with bright golden eyes using him as a puppet, looming over him, and then he was a ventriloquist’s dummy and the same monster made him say words he didn’t want to say, he was in a golden-plated cage, though some of the gold was peeling to reveal dark, rough iron, and the monster was free, taunting him and reaching through the bars only to snatch himself away when Seijūrō tried to grab for him) stretches when he would dream of bright colours surrounding him, filling him with light and beauty and strength that he didn’t know he could possess. But that night was completely different, completely real.

He’d mapped out Kōki’s body in his mind, built it into his muscle memory till he only needed a few seconds and touches to have him trembling. It had taken Kōki years more to be able to do the same to him, though time and time again he’d insisted that Seijūrō was cheating and perverting the use of his Eye.

Not that Seijūrō minded. There was nothing he enjoyed more than loving Kōki with all he had.

And this dream was what they’d done hundreds of times before, focussing so much on him that gunfire could be rampant around them and he wouldn’t realise. Kōki’s hands were in his hair, nails digging into the back of his head as he gave quiet whimpers at Seijūrō’s every movement.

Always so powerful and entrancing. It felt all so real, even the weave of the bed sheets and sunlight warm against his back. He pulled back to admire his masterpiece, staring avidly until Kōki was looking away, his cheeks staining even darker.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he felt, rather than heard.

Nebulas flashed in his eyes when he looked back, and Seijūrō smiled, even though the rushing of wind drowned out Kōki’s next words. He leant closer, his thumb traced over the curve of his lower lip—

—he was cold. Reality hit him like a pain, his ears were ringing from the silence.

Completely alone. White ceiling, beige walls, all monochrome and hateful sepia rather than vibrant yellows and reds. He was craving touch like he never had before, but couldn’t kid himself that the blanket wrapped around him were Kōki’s arms.

-

In the attempt of winning more trust from his former family, he brought the calculator after work that day, as well as a day-planner. Kōki opened the door, seeming flustered (always Seijūrō’s favourite emotion of his, because he would always kiss more blush into his cheeks) before sighing and asking, “Can you stay and keep an eye on the twins? I really need to run some errands.”

“Of course,” Seijūrō said.

With almost wild eyes he looked up the stairs, to where Aito was skipping lightly down smiling like an angel.

“Where’s your brother?” Kōki asked immediately. He beamed for a moment, and either Kōki had become immune to it or was a naturally harder person, because Seijūrō likened him to the sun and forgot what Kōki had asked. “Aito.”

The smile slid off his face and he scratched his head nervously. “He’s on the roof.”

“Not _again_ ,” Kōki groaned, pushing his hair behind his ears before running up the steps.

“The roof?”

Aito bit the side of his thumb and nodded. “He likes it up there. If papa knew how often he actually went up there he would blow a fuse.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head, looking down at his feet as he went down the remaining steps. “I’m scared of heights. I don’t even like when Kagami-san picks me up.”

“He is aggravatingly tall,” Seijūrō agreed.

Kōki rounded the corner, a very smug-looking Eri being dragged along by his arm and light from the window behind him lighting his hair like a halo.

Right now, he honestly would have done anything to be able to step forwards and kiss him.

“How many times have I told you not to climb on the roof?” he said to Eri, holding his shoulders and bending down to his height.

Eri paused, and Seijūrō recognised the expression on his face as one he often had himself in the few years when he’d been a carefree child. “Including that time?” he asked, eyes wide and innocent as he gestured up the stairs.

“Eri,” Kōki said coldly, waiting until he’d ducked his head down.

“I’m sorry papa.”

He glanced up at Seijūrō, told him not to let Eri on the roof under any circumstances before kissing the top of Eri’s head and Aito’s, pausing for a moment with an air of confusion as he looked at Seijūrō before turning red and almost diving out of the door.

Eri glowered up at him for a moment before Aito prodded him with his foot and grinning at Seijūrō. “You wanted him to kiss you too, right?”

With that smile, he couldn’t even begin to be angry, and instead kissed the top of his head, taking it as an indirect kiss.

-

He wasn’t sure when he’d decided that he would try to win Kōki back before his wedding on Saturday, but before he knew it, he had, in low tones as if Kōki would somehow overhear, promised the twins that he would do his best, and even if he was far from absolute any more, _this_ would work because it actually mattered. They’d both given him wide smiles, and even Eri had ended up closer to him, holding onto his arm. Aito’s eyes had gotten heavy, and he’d said, “I can’t wait until we’re a family again,” before dropping off to sleep.

“He was up later than he should have been last night,” Eri said in explanation.

“Eri, you know what it means when I saw I’ll do my best, don’t you?”

He didn’t scoff, as Seijūrō had half-expected him to, but nodded seriously. “That it may not work out.”

“Exactly.”

“But you’re still going to try.”

The breath he took hurt his chest. “Yes.”

“And if it doesn’t work out you won’t disappear again?” His fierce expression was entirely Kōki, all bravery and strength against injustice.

“I promise.”

“Good,” he said, promptly leaning against Seijūrō’s shoulder and falling asleep himself.

It was warm, he thought distantly. And with the distant sound of cars and a faint whirring from the computer in the corner, he was lulled into a sleep in which he either didn’t dream or it wasn’t striking enough to remember.

The sky was dark when he woke up to a hand on his shoulder and Eri shifting beside him. Kōki had softer eyes than he’d seen in a long time when he looked up (though whether it was because of him or the twins was up for debate) and asked him in a low tone to carry Aito up to bed as he was still asleep and entirely dead to the world. Eri pushed himself up, staggering and dragging his feet as he yawned, but still lead Seijūrō up the stairs and opened the door to their small room for him. He hopped into the bed closest to the window and gestured to the other bed. Aito really hadn’t stirred at all, and curled up on his side as soon as Seijūrō had deposited him.

“I need insurance.”

Seijūrō frowned over his shoulder at Eri. “You need what?”

“Insurance. So that I’m sure you won’t disappear again even if it doesn’t work out.”

It still hurt, even if really, he understood what Eri meant by it. According to the twins, all he did was break promises. So after kissing Aito’s forehead, he took the calculator and day-planner from his pocket and handed them both to Eri, kneeling next to his bed. “I need the planner before next Friday,” he said. Eri hugged it to his chest and nodded.

“I’ll return it Thursday evening.”

“Not too late.” He kissed Eri’s forehead, anticipating being pushed away (he had been five, after all, when he’d decided he’d had quite enough of physical affection from his parents, even if he glared jealously when Seijūrō and Kōki showered affection onto Aito), and taking advantage when he wasn’t to gather him up into a crushing hug as Eri struggled weakly and laughed. Once he’d managed to fend Seijūrō off, he flopped back against the pillow, gave him a tired smile and, apparently, fell asleep immediately.

Kōki was, quite familiarly, on the sofa with his face in a cushion when Seijūrō came down again. It was, certainly, a very odd defence mechanism, but he’d done the same when coming up close to their own wedding, and whenever they came close to adopting.

“Is the planning going well?” he asked once he’d approached. Kōki lowered the cushion.

“Y-yes. Just the last few days are going to be hectic.” His eyes rather wild-looking, he put the cushion back in its place and opted instead to wrap his arms tightly around his chest.

Seijūrō certainly hadn’t seen him panicking like _this_ in the run-up to their wedding. The first stage for Kōki was loud panic, but how he was now was quiet and pale.

Second thoughts maybe? “I’ll make you a cup of tea,” he said, hurrying to make it and get back to him. It had been years since he’d felt this calm and excited at the same time, as if every sense had become more overpowering. It was the anticipation; he was suddenly brave enough to put everything on the line.

“Thank you,” Kōki mumbled, accepting it with a wan smile.

“Why are you so worried?” he asked gently. Kōki seemed to only be able to meet his eye for a second before darting away.

“Because the last one didn’t turn out at all well,” he said. Seijūrō sat back, refrained from saying that all of that was _over_ now. “But I don’t really want to talk about that. How were the twins?”

“Fine,” Seijūrō said. Kōki’s leg was jumping, he was breathing quicker than usually and biting his lower lip. Whatever it was, he was uncomfortable and frightened. “They fell asleep pretty much straight away.”

“They stayed up too late last night,” he said quietly. “When you’re looking after them make sure they’re in bed by nine.”

Seijūrō touched his shoulder, and when some of the tension left him (his leg stopped incessantly bouncing), leant slightly closer. “There’s nothing to worry about, Kōki,” he said softly.

Kōki recognised the tone in his voice and the underlying meaning. It was so normal and natural between them, after all, nothing like either of them could find anywhere else. He knew exactly which point on Kōki’s neck he could kiss and have him melting and willing, Kōki knew exactly what expression could drive Seijūrō to madness with want.

“So, what exactly are you doing now that the company’s…?” he trailed off, wide, panicked eyes looked in his direction. The words had been to try and cut the tension between them, but one look at how Kōki’s hands were fists on his lap and Seijūrō knew it wouldn’t take much to bring it back.

“Working for an idiot,” he answered, cocking an eyebrow.

“You’re still working in business?”

“Well, yes.”

Kōki sighed. “You’re the idiot, Sei.” And maybe he was, because for the life of him he couldn’t work out why he was. “After the company went under, you could literally do anything. Don’t interrupt me,” he added when Seijūrō started to speak. “Shōgi, basketball, even horseriding, and yet you went back to the sector that sucked every bit of life out of you?”

Seijūrō paused for a moment, waiting for him to continue. “I thought it was childish to want those things.”

“Childish to want to be happy?”

His passion and intensity made Seijūrō ache, and before he knew it he had leant in, not giving Kōki time to back away and kissed him.

It just fit so well, Kōki’s hands were perfectly moulded around his neck, he trapped Seijūrō’s bottom lip over and over. He hadn’t changed; his body was still soft, his hair still tickled Seijūrō’s forehead, his taste was still addictive. He still gave the same small whine when Seijūrō pulled back and he had to put his hand over Kōki’s mouth to stop him from continuing.

“I should go,” he said.

Kōki seemed as if he was going to protest, before he nodded, letting his arms fall from around Seijūrō’s neck. For once, he continued looking at Seijūrō as he left in a wondering, nervous way.

-

The first time he’d ever kissed Kōki it had been an accident more than anything. It wasn’t as if it was love at first sight for either of them, and by the time they’d both turned eighteen they were close friends without expecting their relationship to develop any more. It just changed at a certain point a couple of months before Kōki’s nineteenth birthday, when he was talking so quickly about something that Seijūrō couldn’t understand because of how excited he was, and everything about him was so animated and light-hearted that Seijūrō realised every talisman he needed against his fear and insecurity was right beside him. It wasn’t the kind of falling in love that terrified him as it had the other times it happened, as if he was falling into a chasm too big to climb out of, too big to see where it ended, but as if something slotted inside him and his strength had suddenly doubled to be able to contain it. And in that moment he had no control, he brought Kōki closer and kissed him.

It was, probably, the only time he couldn’t read Kōki’s expression when he pulled back, but it was almost as if he was caught between panicking and wanting to be suave and flirtatious. In the end, he settled with ducking his head, nervously stealing glances, and asking, “Was that to shut me up?”

“No,” Seijūrō had said. He stroked Kōki’s hair and leant in again. “I just wanted to try it.”

The second and third kisses were deliberate, enticing and powerful enough that, for a short moment, he could forget who he was.

-

What Kōki had said the night before stuck with him enough that when he got back, allowing himself one last look at Kōki and burning the image into his mind just in case, he did research on shōgi competitions coming up in the area. Taking the old board out from the cupboard under the stairs and hunting for close to an hour for all the pieces, he set himself up in the living room and practiced until he once again recognised the strategies and saw the lines of attack as if they’d been painted on the board. The next day he resigned from the dead-end job he’d stuck himself in, and even his house felt lighter when he got back, mostly due to the fact that he called the twins, the chatter through the phone a pleasant backdrop to the game of shōgi he was playing.

And why shouldn’t he be happy? He was determined; even if Kōki decided to go through with the wedding, he would have Eri and Aito. No more surviving for no one but himself just for the sake of it.

The twins came round the next day (uninvited and unannounced) with more work that they needed help with, ending with Aito pouting in the corner because Eri got more correct answers than he did.

“Papa was really quiet yesterday,” Eri said lightly, innocently colouring in a skeleton on his paper.

“And very loud this morning,” Aito continued, finally slinking back and trying to peek over to his brother’s work.

“A bit manic, really.”

“Did he talk to you at all?” Seijūrō asked, occupying his hands by organising the coloured pencils into a gradient.

“No,” Aito said.

“I thought it would be because you kissed him.” Aito nodded at Eri and dropped his head onto his arms.

Seijūrō glowered at Eri, who apparently wasn’t affected whatsoever, going by the easy smile adorning his face. “How did you know that? And it doesn’t mean anything will change.”

“Why not?”

“Because kissing someone is very different to deciding to spend the rest of your life with them.”

“But you’d already decided to do that before! Why else would you have gotten married?”

At this point, Aito had hidden his face in his arms as Eri stood up. “Things change.”

“Well they shouldn’t!” His voice broke halfway through and he covered his face with his hands just as tears welled up and spilled over. “It’s _you_ who completely messed up, daddy. Nothing would have changed if you’d just done what you were supposed to.” He sniffed, sobs shaking his small body, and Seijūrō took a breath that caught in his throat.

But showing weakness or uncertainty in front of them was the worst thing he could do right now, so he caught hold of Eri’s wrists, pulling his hands down. “I know,” he said. “I make mistake after mistake when it comes to something which actually matters, which is why I’m treading so carefully now.”

“You don’t have _time_ for that. He’s getting married in two days!”

“But if I push him too much he could demand that I never see him again, and by extension you two. And that’s what matters, okay?”

“You promised you’d try, daddy!”

Seijūrō was exasperated, more than anything. Eri really was stubborn and single-minded. Maybe it was his age, but everything was so _simple_ to him.

“Papa’s been different recently,” Aito said. Seijūrō figured it was also to take some of the pressure off Eri, because from the corner of his eye he could see Eri turning away and wiping his face. “More manic, sure, but… as if something has lit up inside him. He’s more…” he paused, frowning. “Close to the surface? As if he’s not pushing his emotions down to be strong for us or something.” He looked down and Eri turned back to them, composed again. “Not like before. He could be a bit robotic before.”

“And you really think that’s because of me.”

Aito nodded solemnly, and returned to his previous position face-down on the table.

Seijūrō would give anything for it to be true. His mind was running too fast, back and forth between the options. But the problem was he had a naturally selfish streak, even if he buried it as much as possible. The… _other_ him, before the company had gone bankrupt, had always encouraged it and encouraged him to take and dominate. He just wasn’t sure whether all that remained after he’d grown silent was all _him_ or partially his irritating younger brother. And it wasn’t like either him or Kōki told the twins about his psychological issues, so his explanation for how tentative he was couldn’t suffice.

He pondered it for a while with his eyes closed, almost meditating, really, until the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Aito said. Eri followed him to the door.

Seijūrō knew what he wanted as soon as he saw Kōki, the gentle smile he gave the twins, a persistent ache in his chest being relieved, the allure of some exposed skin on his hip when he was crouched down beside them.

Eri looked at him and he pushed down some final uncertainties. _He_ was the best for the twins, Kōki responded to him as if by reflex, and nothing had ever changed that fact that he loved Kōki more than he could understand he was capable of.

He stood up. “Kōki—”

“About next week, you don’t need to take the twins after all. My parents can take them instead.” Seijūrō froze. Eri and Aito looked at each other with wide eyes. “And… I think it’s better if you just don’t see them again. I can keep an eye on them at the wedding.”

“You can’t—”

“I really can, Seijūrō.”

Aito, startled, looked towards Eri. Tears had started to form in his eyes again even though his expression was steely and cold, and he glared at Seijūrō.

“Eri,” he started, reaching towards him, but Eri opened the door, and slammed it behind him. Kōki spun to open the door in time to see him turn left and run down the road and called after him in a panic.

“He’s going home!” Aito said, sprinting off after him. Kōki shouted after Aito too, sent a burning glare to Seijūrō as if it was his fault, and followed them down the road. Seijūrō did the same, pausing only to shut the door behind him. He watched the back of Kōki’s head as he ran. There was no way Kōki would accept him now; if anything he was blaming Seijūrō for what happened.

Aito was at the gate when they reached the house. “He’s on the roof,” he said, kicking at the ground. His lower lip stuck out as Kōki shot into the house and Seijūrō knelt beside him when he saw scrapes on his arm.

“Did you fall over?”

“I grazed it against a wall.” He whimpered when Seijūrō took hold of his arm to look at it closer.

“Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, stopped halfway through and then nodded, stepping closer to hug Seijūrō. “I don’t want you to leave,” Aito mumbled into his hair. Seijūrō leant his forehead against his thin chest. All of him was thin and small—too small for his age, he was sure—and the urge to protect him was over-powering.

“We’ll take everything one step at a time.” He pulled back, waited until Aito nodded, and sat back on his heels to wait for the front door to open. When it did, Kōki’s eyes met his for second before his jaw tensed. He had Eri’s arm firmly in his hand, even as Eri weakly struggled. Aito shivered—and with the way Kōki was looking at Seijūrō he didn’t blame him—and ran to hide behind him. Seijūrō could almost feel all his emotions pouring into the ground. He felt empty, and the worst part was that it felt like relief.

“Eri convinced me otherwise. You don’t have to stay away from them, but only if I don’t see you.” Seijūrō stared up at him, legs too numb to stand up. “You can come to the wedding to keep an eye on them, but after that I want nothing to do with you, Akashi. The twins can make their way to and from yours alone, you don’t ever talk to me or take one step into my house.”

Pointless details ran in his head, the single tear that was making its way down Kōki’s cheek, the fact that the wind had picked up and was blowing leaves off trees, that Kōki had called him _Akashi_ when in fact even after the separation he hadn’t changed his name back. “That’s…” he started, shaking his head before standing up. “That’s ridiculous, Kōki.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for much—”

“Kōki, I can’t just _not_ see you—”

“Well you’re going to have to get used to it—”

“ _Why_?”

“Because I can’t get over you like this!”

Seijūrō stared at him. Kōki let Eri’s arm go to cover his face with his hands as Seijūrō slowly stepped forwards, taking hold of his shoulders as he trembled. “What makes you think that you have to get over me?”

Kōki shook his head furiously until Seijūrō twisted his hands in his hair to keep him still. He dropped his hands. “I just want you out of my life.”

Seijūrō ignored how that pain shot through him like lightning. “Don’t. Marry me, Kōki.”

“ _No_.”

He stumbled forwards then; Seijūrō supposed that Eri had leant against his back to push him closer to Seijūrō, and his refusal would have been convincing enough had he not put his arms around Seijūrō’s neck and kissed him.

They were drawn to each other. It was as simple as completing a puzzle; Kōki had the pieces of himself that he was missing and craved just as much as he had what Kōki wanted. Simpler still, the way they fit against each other. The curve of his spine against Seijūrō’s fingers, Kōki’s hands moulding to his shape was so natural and easy, and Seijūrō could feel the relief emanating from him.

Kōki pulled away. He was a sight to behold right now, with his lips reddened and the light blush like dawn painted over his cheeks. “A lifetime is a lot of time to keep up a pretence, Kōki.”

“I know,” he said. He let Seijūrō kiss his cheek and the corner of his mouth, his eyelids fluttering shut. “I’ll call tonight.”

Aito was chewing his thumb nail when Kōki firmly pushed him away, Eri holding his other hand. Seijūrō expected that was the best he was going to get and inclined his head, keeping his eyes locked to Kōki’s before leaving.

-

It hadn’t been his first proposal to Kōki—in fact he was well into the dozens now—but it was the first time he had a chance of getting a favourable answer.

It was partially an intrinsic need to possess anything he wanted, though he tried to push those instincts down somewhere dark and inaccessible like where his brother stayed, and partially some kind of assurance that he really _was_ doing everything he could and not letting him slip out of his fingers, but _proposing_ had never been something he thought of as a big moment. The first time he’d let it out had been maybe a month after they’d started going out, and the answer had been Kōki laughing until Seijūrō had raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t as if he’d expected the answer to be yes immediately (his opinion of Kōki would have lowered if it had been), but he’d assumed that Kōki would have responded that one day they would. His reaction wasn’t the first time he’d surprised or confused Seijūrō, and certainly wasn’t the last.

“ _You can’t be serious, Seijūrō._ ”

“ _I didn’t expect an answer right away, but I was serious_.”

He had been. Even at eighteen, he didn’t want to put a lot of effort in what he knew would turn out to be a difficult relationship and not have _some_ gain. It was, at the very least, sound business practice to state what he expected from the beginning.

“ _It’s been a month_.”

Seijūrō cocked his head to one side, requesting more information.

“ _You haven’t proposed to anyone else, have you?_ ”

Seijūrō replied that he hadn’t. Of course, he’d fantasised about marrying the others he’d fallen for, but he’d known from the beginning of the relationships that he was in well over his head and staying with them would have resulted in more heartbreak and loss than it was worth. Kōki was different. There’d been no competition between them, no fight for dominance and power. He didn’t feel like he was on fire whenever they were close but instead a more rejuvenating warmth.

In the end, once a more reasonable length of time had passed it was Kōki who had asked when it was the defining time.

-

The phone rang late at night, close to midnight, just as Seijūrō had made himself some tea to try to calm himself. He answered with shaking hands.

“I can’t do it, Sei.”

Seijūrō waited for him to continue with bated breath.

“I can’t be with you. I don’t trust us enough.”

He did answer. Something simple that he could say with his mind detaching from his body, some kind of acknowledgement.

“But… I don’t want you out of my life. I want the twins to know you. So don’t… disappear again.” He paused. Seijūrō tried to think of something to say. “Are you still going to come to the wedding?”

“Yes,” Seijūrō responded, almost surprising himself at his response. “I might step outside for the ceremony,” he added, with a short, mirthless laugh. It was too loud in the quietness of the surroundings, and he stopped himself awkwardly.

“Okay.”

He waited for Kōki to continue, to say anything that could strengthen Seijūrō’s will enough to fight his ground. He tried to analyse the possible routes this could go, couldn’t imagine any situation where Kōki would be married to someone else, still be involved with Seijūrō in some way that didn’t end up with Kōki weakening and succumbing to his advances, left wracked by guilt.

This would never end up as it was supposed to, he thought as he held the phone to his ear long after Kōki had disconnected.

-

Distraction the next day came in the form of managing his finances and entering a few shōgi contests over the following month robotically. He avoided thinking about the twins, because that would inevitably lead to thinking about Kōki and what would happen less than a day in the future. Part of him wondered if it was the beginning of avoiding them once again.

It wasn’t as if they _needed_ him, after all. He was sure it was the other way around.

As requested by the twins the next morning when they called, he arrived early, and felt as if he’d been ambushed when one of the twins—Aito, he realised when he looked down and saw his slightly longer, more unkempt hair—dove onto him and tightened his arms around his waist.

“Papa’s lost it,” he announced.

The gate screeched behind him and he looked back to see that Eri had sat on top of it. “Lost it?” he asked. “Eri, don’t sit up there in your suit.”

Eri rolled his eyes, but hopped off. “He’s…” Eri paused. “How do you say it? Cata…nonic?”

“Do you mean catatonic?”

Aito looked both distinctly confused and aggravated, whilst Eri nodded. “He still doesn’t know how to work his tie.”

“Or ours for that matter,” Aito added.

Seijūrō bit back a remark and stepped through the open door. He was distracted, making a mess of the tie around his neck whilst swearing under his breath. Seijūrō prodded Eri when he laughed, accidentally met Aito’s eyes, who was watching him narrowly and closed his eyes for a moment before approaching Kōki.

There was nothing he could do. This didn’t just have to be second thoughts; he had a generally nervous disposition as it was which was especially heightened when he would be the centre of attention. Even if before their wedding he had been nothing but excited, it meant nothing. They hadn’t lasted regardless.

He breathed through the ache in his chest, and caught hold of Kōki’s shoulders to turn him round.

“First, stop swearing in front of our children,” he ordered, ignoring the panicked look. “And second, calm _down_.” He undid the horrific attempt at a tie and redid it.

“Thank you,” Kōki mumbled. “Sorry,” he said to the twins. Eri was pressing his hands to his mouth, his shoulders shaking from holding back his laughter. Aito, in comparison, was still glaring steadily at them with a serious expression. “You look nice,” he turned back to Seijūrō, before ducking his head, the tips of his ears turning red. Seijūrō half-reached for him, whether to take hold of his hand or his wrist or just brush the tips of his fingers over his warm skin while he still had the chance to. “Excuse me,” he said suddenly, pulling back and walking into another room.

Instead of following him, he knelt next to the twins and did up their ties; previously they had been hanging loose around their necks.

“You’re not going to him?” Aito said.

“He’s made his choice, and I have to respect that.”

“I don’t see why, seeing as it’s a stupid choice.”

“ _Eri_.” Eri pouted, looking away as he started blinking furiously. “It’s not as if you’re losing me, okay? It’s just that you’ll have a mother as well. It’s probably for the best,” he said. Lied.

Even Aito was starting to sniffle at that. Seijūrō tried all he could to remain impassive, even if it meant feeling cold and the twins shifting uncomfortably.

“What’s she like, then? It’s serendipity that I haven’t met her yet but it’s not as if that can last.”

“Serendipity?” Eri asked.

“Good luck.”

Eri nodded, frowning for a second. “She’s nice,” he said weakly.

“I’ve already heard that much.”

The twins exchanged a look which Seijūrō couldn’t entirely decipher. “It’s just… there’s not all that much to say,” Eri said, stepping forwards. “She helps us with our homework when we ask, she’s good at cooking and smiles a lot…” he trailed off.

“Papa smiles more when he’s around you than when he’s with her,” Aito added.

Seijūrō sat back on his heels and crossed his arms. “He doesn’t smile that much around me.”

“No, the smile he does with his eyes when he really means it.” Eri nodded in agreement, but Seijūrō shook his head. “She’s quite pretty I suppose?” Aito continued.

“Not as pretty as you, though.”

Seijūrō froze at Eri’s words, almost laughing out loud. “I’m not entirely sure how I should feel about that comment.”

“It’s a compliment,” Aito said, supposedly seriously. Seijūrō couldn’t quite work out whether he was actually being sarcastic or not.

It wouldn’t have been appropriate any other way, so once Kōki had emerged and announced that it was time to go he got into his own car and followed them. His emotions were disappearing from his mind again but he welcomed that respite, running on auto-pilot more than anything. Nothing felt real now, the silence of the car, Eri’s face sometimes visible in front when he turned back, the sun blinding him from reflecting off the wet road. It was all too brilliant for _this_ to be happening.

And he just couldn’t work out what Kōki was feeling. Something about him had shut down, leaving himself outwardly emotionless.

He waited in the car for a moment when they arrived at a small building, half resembling a church and half a traditional Japanese building, pausing at the handle. Kōki was talking to Fukuda, who was staring at Seijūrō in shock, at the same time trying to make it seem like he wasn’t. It was probably going to happen a lot today, he thought to himself.

He took a breath, and stepped out.

-

It was probably cowardice. Well, there was no _probably_ about it, it _was_ cowardice, and he had a feeling that would be his only friend until he finally managed to make a patchwork of himself that didn’t have Kōki interwoven in every strand. But still, he was in the corner of the room, flinching every time the door opened, his breath catching every time he realised it wasn’t _her_. Kōki seemed to have relaxed, even though his bride was nowhere to be seen.

“Akashi-kun?”

 _That_ , he hadn’t expected. He didn’t screech, or anything equally as embarrassing, thank goodness. Didn’t drop anything that he had in his hands, didn’t drop to the floor or hit his head on the wall, but he did jump, and glare at the offender.

“Don’t look at me like that, Akashi-kun,” Kuroko said, joining him in what he had affectionately dubbed the ‘anti-social’ corner in his mind, becoming really rather fond of it.

“I didn’t change my name back after we separated, you know.”

Kuroko blinked slowly. “That’s morbid.”

Seijūrō didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and settled with sighing loudly. “It’s been a while,” he said.

“I am aware.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t talk for a moment. “You’re keeping an eye on the twins?”

Seijūrō nodded, though, really, that job wasn’t even necessary as they were sitting in one of the other corners with Aomine and Satsuki’s youngest daughter, who was the flower girl but apparently hadn’t quite understood that eating the petals wasn’t a good idea.

“Can I give you some life advice, Kuroko?” Kuroko looked at him expectantly. “Never marry someone you’re in love with.” He wasn’t sure if he _meant_ for it to be a joke or not, and regardless, it was quite useless what with his already being married to Kagami, but Kuroko still looked at him with the same steady, emotionless features, and it was somehow comforting. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in contact.”

“What have you been doing?”

Seijūrō tried to remember, to cast it in the most positive light he could. Self-reflection? Working? “A bit of everything, really,” he lied. “Work, travel, self-reflection.” He smiled at Kuroko, who merely frowned.

Ah. He should have remembered that Kuroko was a walking lying detector.

-

He tried to stop himself from approaching Kōki—it only hurt the two of them—but he did it regardless, automatically straightening his tie.

“Th-thank you.” Kōki furrowed his brows.

“You should really be doing that yourself.” Kōki nodded, enthusiastically enough that Seijūrō had to hide a smile, although today was _not_ the best day to remind himself of all the reasons he’d fallen for him.

Aito and Eri skidded up to him and Aito squeezed his hand, at the exact same moment Kōki straightened himself and plastered a bright smile on his face. Seijūrō didn’t turn around, if only to kid himself one last time that this wasn’t happening, but she came up to Kōki and pulled him down for a kiss, even though Kōki froze with shock.

Seijūrō would have said that Aito and Eri had lied, because she certainly was pretty—even beautiful—but that could have been the wedding dress. People always looked beautiful in wedding dresses. She turned back, taking hold of Kōki’s hand and smiling at Seijūrō quite nervously. “You must be Akashi Seijūrō-san,” she said. She smiled at the twins for an instant, where Aito was still clutching onto Seijūrō’s hand whilst Eri stared up at Kōki. “I’m Saki.” She didn’t give a family name, but Seijūrō supposed there was no point in doing that anyway.

And even though he was incredibly tempted, he couldn’t correct her to say his name was actually Furihata Seijūrō. Even now, he wasn’t as petty as that. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said instead. He didn’t look towards Kōki, who was staring at the ground. He didn’t look anywhere near Kuroko, who was staring at him, or at the twins. Instead he took her outstretched hand and shook it.

“Likewise,” she said, with another beaming smile, before she turned towards Kōki. “Your hair is a mess,” she chided.

Seijūrō thought that, even pale and blanched as he was, he looked beautiful with his hair slightly mussed from incessantly running his fingers through it, how his tie had loosened again slightly and he’d undone the top button of his shirt as soon as he could, but Saki still flattened his hair into submission and firmly smartened his appearance. Finally, she kissed him again (Seijūrō looked away and cuffed Eri over the head when he saw the dramatic retching act he was putting on), and said, “Are you ready?”

Kōki stared at her as if she was a beacon and nodded.

Seijūrō hung back when she dragged Kōki away but watched after him, only turning away a second before Kōki looked back.

-

“Are you coming, daddy?” Aito asked at the door.

Seijūrō made sure to smile, to pretend that his life hadn’t just erupted into smoke. “Best if I stay out here,” he said, forcing cheer which didn’t fool them one bit.

“But…” Eri started. He drifted off and bit his lip. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on us.”

“Eri,” he said. He let a bit of the mask slip, composed himself entirely again once more as Eri stared open-mouthed at him. “I’ll stay out here,” he said.

Eri rubbed under his eyes, Aito latched onto his waist for a few seconds, and let go to take Eri’s hand. They scurried into the hall, and Seijūrō let out a long breath.

Saki was standing a few metres behind him when he turned back, a bouquet clutched in her hands. Seijūrō froze, wondering how much she’d gathered from the exchange with his sons.

“Kōki really does deserve the best, you know,” she started. Seijūrō remained motionless. “And I do intend to give that to him, to the best of my ability. It’s the same with the twins; of course I can’t replace you but I’ll be someone else in their lives. They’ll never be wanting, no matter what.”

Eri and Aito had been right. She _was_ nice. Seijūrō inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said.

She nodded, glanced worriedly into the hall as Seijūrō leant against the rough bricks.

She entered.

-

Seijūrō wasn’t a masochist.

-

He told himself that over and over to refrain from looking inside. He repeated it when his mind drifted it to his own wedding day, as hot tears started falling down his face. The small ceremony. Kōki kissing him, only softly and chastely, as if his passion was a secret for only them. The way he’d kept his hand on Seijūrō’s thigh on the drive to the holiday home and that night, when the intensity and strength—they were finally, in _every_ sense of the word, one person—had made it seem like the first time. Waking up with Kōki curled around him and thinking that every morning now would be like that. Waking him by kissing his nose and watching as he wrinkled it before he had cracked open one eye.

-

Seijūrō _wasn’t_ a masochist.

-

It was a talisman against thinking of the first years with the twins, when they first grasped his finger, when they first looked at him, the first smiles (he’d missed every other milestone). Holding them both in his arms when they’d been small enough for that, comforting Eri after recurring nightmares, Kōki standing in the doorway watching them with a smile which was all in his eyes, falling asleep after a long day with Aito on his lap, Kōki’s voice the most pleasant backdrop.

-

Seijūrō… _wasn’t_ , _couldn’t_ be a masochist; it was too petty.

-

But back when the problems started, when he would get home and the twins would be asleep and he’d only have seen them for a few minutes in the morning before leaving, and Kōki was exhausted from work and taking care of them and the house and he’d started shying away from contact, Seijūrō had pushed it to the back of his mind. After all, he couldn’t let Kōki know of the real mess he’d been landed in once his father had transferred the company to him, the collection of human rights’ violations and exploitation which he read page after page of with a sinking heart, thinking of his father’s words, “ _Seijūrō, I’m ready to let bygones be bygones. You can continue your relationship with that Furihata and I won’t interfere, and you can pass the company over to one of your boys when they are grown,_ ” and the calculating look in his eye. Seijūrō, meanwhile, had been ecstatic and hadn’t even noticed. He was accepted for who he was, he and Kōki would never be short of anything. He’d hugged his father then, the only show of physical affection he’d ever given towards him, and his father had shifted uncomfortably but patted his back.

He hadn’t known that his father had simply decided that the stress of covering up all that he had done was not worth it.

-

Seijūrō was beginning to see that he had nothing.

-

In a way, it was a rebirthing when the company had finally gone bankrupt. He’d managed to hide all the scandals from the press and once everything was _over_ he was truly alone. It wasn’t like it was difficult to get a job, but it was so below his level that every time he went he felt like his brain was necrotising, as if every time he exhaled another piece of his soul drifted out but he had nothing to replace it with. It wasn’t self-reflection; he was empty and inside him was nothing but a void with fragments of a personality.

A rebirth, sure, but into something that was more robot than human.

-

Seijūrō was a masochist.

-

He was at the door, watching the ceremony before he realised he had moved. Saki spoke, the officiate nodded and turned to Kōki, who was paler still. He darted a quick look around, before catching sight of Seijūrō and looked back at Saki. Seijūrō could have sworn he was holding her hands tight enough to bruise, but didn’t look at her to see if she was grimacing.

“Repeat after me.” If anything, it sounded like it was coming through a great body of water, muffled and unreal. His throat tightened. “I Kōki take thee Saki.”

Seijūrō closed his eyes and started to turn away. He couldn’t do anything, except maybe wait in the car for the twins. There was no way he could stay here, having to watch Kōki give a bad show in pretending he was happy.

“…thee Seijuu—”

Kōki cut off and Seijūrō froze in his steps as a wave of whispers rippled across the guests.

He had to be hallucinating. Madness had struck and taken him into a world which was, in every way, revolving around Seijūrō. He looked at Kōki, trying to see if he was rippling or morphing, but he remained the same. Saki pulled her hands back and flinched when Kōki tried to catch them again. Seijūrō held his breath, his body so tense that he felt as if the ground had disappeared from beneath him.

Kōki stole a glance in his direction before going bright red, as the officiate stumbled over his words and asked Saki something—probably if they would continue.

He didn’t know how Saki was responding to this, whether she was in any way accepting or if she was communicating a death wish with her eyes. Kōki looked back at her and minutely shook his head as Seijūrō still looked at him, pretty sure that people were turning round to do the same to him. He said something, too quiet for anyone but the officiate and Saki to hear, and Seijūrō wrenched his eyes from him to Saki, who had her lips pressed into a tight line and tears in her eyes. “Go,” he was pretty sure she said, but that couldn’t be right, because it would mean—

Kōki grabbed his tie once he’d approached and pulled Seijūrō away so fast that he was almost tripping up over his feet. He made an exclamation of pain, which was immediately met by Kōki saying “Shut up,” tried to say something to him about not leaving the twins alone, which was met by the same reception. He didn’t stop until they were outside, within the small fringe of trees behind the building, where he let him go so abruptly he had to brace himself against the trunk of one.

“Am I—”

“Just be quiet,” Kōki ordered, pacing in the damp grass, his shoulders almost to his ears. He was ruffled again, his hair worse than ever and as Seijūrō watched he wrenched the tie off and threw it at him. But he finally wasn’t pale, instead animated, his cheeks red. He was breath-taking like this, passionate and flustered. “I need to think,” he added, finally stopping and leaning against the tree next to Seijūrō’s.

“For how long?” Seijūrō asked, hoping that Kuroko was at least keeping an eye on the twins. He could trust him to do that, right?

Kōki glared at him furiously and Seijūrō raised his hands. “I really did something awful there, didn’t I?”

Seijūrō started to say that it wasn’t as bad as he thought, but when Kōki was looking at him earnestly he couldn’t bring himself to lie. “It probably wasn’t your shining moment,” he said, putting it as mildly as he could without outright lying.

“Sh-she… Saki said she actually expected something like this to happen.” He bent forward, putting his head in his hands. “I really don’t know what to do.”

Seijūrō reached out to touch his shoulder, curving his hand over it—maybe a bit possessively but that he couldn’t help. Kōki straightened at the contact, stared at Seijūrō with his eyes wide, lips parted as he started to say something, before giving up. Seijūrō wasn’t sure whether it was resignation or relief, but he sighed and shook his head before stepping closer and pulling him into a kiss.

The world dulled or disappeared. The brightness of the sun against his closed lids was nothing compared to the sparks running through his body. He’d accepted never holding Kōki like this so… it felt like the first time, as if they were embarking on something entirely new instead of striking up the flame again.

-

-

-

**_Omake_ **

“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on in the company?” Seijūrō, his head still slightly reeling, didn’t answer. It was the first time he’d really talked about it and told the entire story from one end to the other, and after the excitement of the day, Kōki on the phone to Saki for close to an hour as Seijūrō worked at calming the twins down enough to put them to bed, he was exhausted. Instead, he propped himself up onto his elbows, paused as Kōki leant in to kiss him again, one hand splayed on his bare torso as if to stop him from leaving. “I mean, I would have still insisted that you pay _some_ attention to us, but I would have been a lot more lenient.”

“You were under enough stress as it was,” Seijūrō said, trying to pull him closer for another kiss and sighing exasperatedly when Kōki put a finger on his mouth to stop him. “And I was ashamed that what _I’d_ had was due to…” he made a noncommittal gesture with his right hand, his left going to Kōki’s waist.

“You’re supposed to share, Seijūrō.”

“I will, now.”

He smiled. “Good. At least you’re out of that environment.” He kissed Seijūrō, more lingering and so sweet that Seijūrō couldn’t breathe. The scratches along his back from before stung lightly, but he welcomed it.

This was what he’d wanted, after all; a final chance to have a _family_. He entwined their fingers together when Kōki bit his lip, tangling his free hand in Seijūrō’s hair with the perfect mixture of possessiveness and devotion.


End file.
